


An Alphabet Of Hurt and Comfort

by loves_books



Category: The A-Team (2010), The A-Team - All Media Types
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Ridiculous amounts of Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-19
Updated: 2015-07-19
Packaged: 2018-04-10 04:06:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 6,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4376630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loves_books/pseuds/loves_books
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>26 times Face was ill, and 26 times Hannibal tried to help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A - Appendicitis

**Author's Note:**

> Does exactly what it says on the tin! I haven't tagged or warned for every illness, for what I hope are obvious reasons, but please pay attention to the chapter titles if you have certain triggers. Most of these are very short, while some parts are a little bit longer, and all of these are stand-alone pieces rather than one story. 
> 
> Written for the challenge on Yahoo groups:  
> "The challenge is to make Face sick, it can be a cold, migraine... you name it, your choice. The only rule is that Hannibal has to try and help to make him feel better. (Even if it doesn't work or Face doesn't appreciate it)."

“Its fine,” Face gasped, keeping one hand pressed hard into his right side and folding in on himself a little more. “I’m fine.”

“It’s not fine, kid, and neither are you.” Hannibal had watched with growing concern as his lover’s mild stomach ache had grown steadily worse throughout the day, Face refusing lunch and even throwing up twice. 

“It’s just something I ate,” Face insisted, even though his cheeks were flushed with the beginnings of a fever and his eyes were suspiciously bright. “It has to be something I – ” He broke off with a sharp gasp, bending over and wrapping both arms around his stomach.

“That’s enough.” Stepping closer, Hannibal slipped one arm around Face’s shaking shoulders and started to guide him quickly out of the room. “I’m taking you to the hospital.”

The fact that Face offered absolutely no resistance convinced him he had made the right decision, and, with a pained whimper, his lover finally admitted, “John… It really hurts.” 

“I know, baby.” Hannibal ushered Face into the van as carefully as he could, fastening the seat belt for him before virtually running around to the driver’s side and jumping in. “It’ll all be okay, I promise.”


	2. B - Bacterial Meningitis

Watching through the glass window of the ICU, Hannibal thought for the thousandth time that he should have realised what was happening. If only he’d brought Face in sooner, if only he’d seen it was more than just the flu. If only he hadn’t waited until Face started convulsing before finally calling an ambulance.

He should’ve known. When Face complained that the lights were too bright, when he mentioned that he had a killer headache, or when he kept rubbing at the back of his neck, saying how stiff it felt. When they first spotted the faint rash on his chest and upper arms. When his temperature started to climb, or when Hannibal struggled to wake Face from his exhausted sleep. Surely, he should’ve known when he couldn’t wake his lover. 

But it had happened so quickly. Within the space of a few short hours, Face had gone from healthy to slightly under-the-weather to fighting for his life, and there was absolutely nothing Hannibal could do to help him.

Now, Face lay comatose in intensive care, hooked up to numerous life support machines and surrounded constantly by attentive doctors and nurses. Now, that faint rash had spread across all the visible portions of Face’s upper body, in spite of the antibiotics being pumped into his body, as septicaemia rapidly took hold.

Now, the doctors were telling Hannibal that there was a long fight ahead of them. That they would do everything they could to get Face through it, though there were no guarantees. That the damage might already be too great for Face to survive. Brain damage, most likely, though the extensive list of possible complications made Hannibal want to weep.

Now, all Hannibal could do was wait. And pray.


	3. C - Carpal Tunnel Syndrome

Hannibal noticed Face shaking his wrists out with a barely-concealed wince, and quickly left the room without commenting. There was little to be said, really, and he knew Face hated being fussed over.

It was getting worse, Hannibal reflected as he fetched a couple of large ice packs from the freezer; Face had barely been on the computer for an hour this time, and it was obvious that the pain had grown unbearable quite rapidly. The wrist splints helped enormously, although the doctor had cautioned Face not to use them for extended periods of time, in case he became too reliant on them. 

Returning to the living room, Hannibal paused in the doorway just as Face glanced up from the desk. He held up the ice packs and quirked an eyebrow up in silent question, waiting until his lover huffed a small, slightly pained smile before moving closer. 

Face pushed back in his seat, resting his hands and forearms on the desk palm up, and allowed Hannibal to settle the ice in place over the inside of his wrists. Hannibal pressed a warm kiss to his lover’s temple as he turned away without a word, and Face whispered, “Thank you.”


	4. D - Diabetes

“Hannibal?” Face sounded a little shaky, setting Hannibal’s internal alarm bells ringing even before he added, “Could you get me a coke? And a chocolate bar, too, please?”

Knowing exactly what that implied, Hannibal moved quickly, making sure to grab one of the full-sugar cokes rather than the diet version they all preferred, before hurrying into the living room. “Alright, kid?” he asked quietly, handing over the drink and peeling open the candy. “Here, slowly now.”

Face nodded gratefully, cracking the can open with shaking hands and taking a long drink. Hannibal gave in to the urge to stroke one hand through his lover’s hair, hoping to soothe him until the sugar could hit his system, but long minutes passed and Face’s shaking only seemed to increase.

This was still so new to all of them, the diagnosis barely two months old, and Face was fighting hard to gain some sort of control over the illness. Hannibal knew he’d get there, but there were times when it was painfully clear they weren’t even close yet.

“Damn it,” Face whispered eventually, draining the last of the coke. “John, I think I need…”

Hannibal was already on his feet. “I’ll get your insulin. Sit tight.”


	5. E - Epilepsy

A heavy thud from the kitchen, splitting the peace and quiet of the afternoon. Hannibal paused for only a second before bursting into motion, running through from the living room to see the horrific sight of Face laid out on the floor, shaking violently, clearly in the throws of a seizure.

Grand mal, some distant part of Hannibal’s mind noted, though he was too busy pushing the kitchen table away from his boy’s twitching legs and turning Face onto his side to really care about the details. He slipped one hand under his lover’s head to try to cushion it from the floor, tugging at Face’s neck tie with his other. He finally managed to pull it free, undoing the top button of the shirt as well so Face wouldn’t choke himself accidentally, hating the harsh gasps that escaped from Face’s lips as he fought for breath. 

Finally, Hannibal folded his legs beneath himself and simply sat, trying to keep his lover’s shaking body as steady as he could as he prepared to wait out the fit. This never got any easier, no matter how many times it happened, and he hated that there was nothing more he could do but watch.


	6. F - Flu

“Kill me now, Hannibal.” A loud sneeze, followed by the trumpeting sound of Face blowing his nose. “I’m serious. Or cut my head off, at least.”

“I think that would have the same effect,” Hannibal mused with a small smile as he offered his lover a fresh box of tissues. “And no, I’d rather not kill you. You’ll be fine.”

With a dramatic huff, Face flung himself back into the pillows and tugged his blankets up higher. “No, I really think I’m dying.” He coughed hoarsely, and Hannibal had to admit he actually did sound quite pitiful. 

“It’s just the flu, baby,” he soothed, gathering up the used tissues and straightening the bedding a little more around the younger man’s shivering form. “Just rest up, drink lots of fluids, and you’ll feel better in a couple of days, I promise.”

Another sneeze. “Hannibal?” 

“Yes, Face?”

“I’m sorry I’m so pathetic.” Rather than dignify that with a response, Hannibal leaned down and simply kissed Face’s sweaty curls, figuring he was already bound to get sick himself in a day or two. As he straightened, another sneeze shook his lover’s huddled form, and Face growled, “Seriously, please just kill me now.”


	7. G - Glandular Fever

At least they had an answer, after a month of being told it was just a bad cold or a minor viral infection. Face had been suffering intermittent fevers and crippling exhaustion, along with a severe and constant sore throat, and he’d been understandably cranky – not to mention miserable – when his symptoms didn’t seem to ease at all as time went by.

Not that having an answer gave them an easy cure, sadly. “Bed rest, Hannibal?” Face croaked, shaking his head. “I’ll go mad in a couple of days. Bored out of my mind.” 

“It’s only for a week or so. And you heard what the doctor said, baby; if you want to start feeling better you have to just stop for a little while to get your strength back. I’ve got a plan, though.”

A coughed half-laugh. “You really do have a plan for everything.”

“Too right.” Hannibal leaned over to press a quick kiss to his lover’s clammy forehead. “I’ve taken some time off work, too, and rented a little beachside cabin. Just you, me, the sea and a big, soft bed.”

“Hmm, sounds like a plan I can get behind.” Face dropped his head down to rest on Hannibal’s shoulder. “You gonna take care of me?”

“Always, kid. Always.”


	8. H - Hypothermia

Pressing his lips to Face’s cold forehead, Hannibal murmured, “It’s okay, baby. You’re okay now. I’ve got you.” Still no response from the limp body in his arms, although he thought he could feel the first shivers starting as Face slowly began to warm up.

Shifting slightly on the too-narrow bed, Hannibal pulled his lover more firmly into his chest, one hand moving to gently guide Face’s head closer into his neck, the other rubbing slowly but firmly across the bare back, beneath the heavy blankets. He held Face virtually on top of his own body, both of them dressed only in their underwear, their naked chests pressed together and Face’s long legs tucked between Hannibal’s own.

In spite of the blankets, Hannibal was starting to shiver a little himself from his lover’s icy body temperature. Again, he cursed the cheap motel room and its useless bathroom – the lukewarm water in the shower had been no use at all, and he desperately needed to bring Face’s body temperature back up soon.

“Come on, Face,” he whispered, sliding his fingers into place on his lover’s chilled neck, feeling the slow yet steady thump of his pulse. “I know you’re cold, and I know you’re tired, but you need to wake up for me. Please.”

Face was definitely starting to shiver now, and that at least was an improvement. Hannibal tightened both arms briefly around his lover’s broad shoulders, closing his eyes and swallowing down his worry. Perhaps he should have taken the risk of getting Face straight to a hospital, but what was done was done, and only time would tell if he’d made the right decision.


	9. I - Irritable Bowel Syndrome

“Face?” Hannibal whispered, pausing in the doorway to the darkened bedroom. “You awake?”

The lump of blankets in the middle of the bed shifted slightly, and a tousled head appeared. “Yeah, I’m awake, boss. What’s up?”

“Brought you a couple of things.” Crossing the room, Hannibal perched carefully on the edge of the mattress, setting a steaming mug on the bedside table. “Peppermint tea, and a refresh.”

He lifted the edge of the blankets, waiting until Face uncurled slightly before reaching in to remove the cooling hot water bottle from against his lover’s belly and replacing it with a new one. A soft sigh slipped from Face’s lips as Hannibal settled the covers up around his shoulders once more.

“Thanks, Hannibal. You’re a lifesaver.” Face sounded exhausted; he’d been up most of the night, as had Hannibal, who’d been unable to sleep knowing the man he loved was in pain.

Running a hand once through Face’s messy curls, Hannibal reluctantly stood to leave, knowing his lover hated to be fussed over. “Drink your tea,” he murmured, relieved when Face huffed a faint laugh – perhaps the worst was nearly over, for this round.


	10. J - Jaundice

It wasn’t obvious at first, and Hannibal wondered if he was just imagining things. They weren’t working in a hot and sunny location for once, and Face’s hard-earned tan had faded a little in the cloudy and overcast weather. He hadn’t been complaining about it, though, which was starting to ring alarm bells in Hannibal’s mind. But he was sure he was just imagining it.

In the end, to his surprise, it was actually Face who brought up the subject first, one morning when the two of them were in the bathroom together, towelling each other off after a wonderful shared shower.

“Hannibal? Is it just me, or…” Face broke off, ducking his head. “My skin, my eyes, are they…?”

Hannibal stepped closer, slipping one hand under his lover’s chin and tilting his head back up into the light. “A little bit yellow?” he suggested quietly, seeing again how the whites of Face’s baby blue eyes weren’t quite right. Something twisted deep in his stomach at the sight.

Face bit his lower lip, nodding. “Yeah. I thought it was just me, and there’s no fucking sun here, but… You think I should see a doctor, maybe?”

“I do, kid.” Hannibal leaned closer, pecked a kiss to the very tip of his boy’s nose in an attempt to reassure him. “Better safe than sorry, right?”


	11. K - Kidney Disease

The renal ward was a calm place, Hannibal had always felt. Not quiet, the hum of machines and chatter of both patients and staff a constant background presence, but it was always so different from his previous experiences of hospitals. There was no panic here, no voices raised in alarm. There was blood, of course, but it was cycling peacefully through the dialysis machines, rather than pouring from open wounds.

Face squeezed his hand gently, pulling him out of his thoughts. “You okay, Hannibal?”

“I should be asking you that, surely.” They’d been there for an hour now, with at least another hour and a half to go. Three times a week, for several months now, and it had already become routine, though that never stopped Hannibal worrying. “Are you feeling okay?”

“I’m fine. A little tired.” Face shifted slightly in his cushioned recliner, wincing when he accidentally moved the arm hooked up to the machine by his side. “Not light-headed yet.”

“Good.” Face occasionally suffered a drop in blood pressure during dialysis, scaring Hannibal badly every time when the monitors started beeping a little faster. “Why don’t you get some sleep if you can?”

“Yeah. Might do that.”

There were tired circles beneath Face’s blue eyes, circles which never seemed to fade any more, no matter how much rest the younger man got. The only thing that would give Face his energy back and return him to full health would be a much-needed kidney transplant. 

Hannibal leaned forwards, pressing a quick kiss to his lover’s lips. “You know I’d give you one of my kidneys if I could, right? Both of them, if it would help.” He’d been tested as soon as they’d found out Face was in the early stages of renal failure, but he hadn’t been a match. Neither had any of their other friends, sadly, leaving Face towards the bottom of a fairly long waiting list for an anonymous donor. 

“You’ve told me a thousand times, Hannibal. And you know I’m so grateful.” Face smiled at him before closing his eyes. “It’ll be my turn, one day.”


	12. L - Leukaemia

It wasn’t the news they’d been hoping for. After months of chemotherapy, after watching as Face grew painfully thin and lost all his hair, after holding him while he vomited constantly and comforting him when he wept angry tears, Hannibal had been praying that this round of tests would show some improvement. Perhaps not remission, not quite yet, but at least some indication that the aggressive treatment was working. That it was all worth it.

“I’m sorry,” the doctor told them softly, and Hannibal could feel Face starting to shake by his side. “I know this wasn’t what you wanted to hear. I recommend we repeat the current course of therapy, and I think we also need to discuss the possibility of looking for a suitable bone marrow donor.” 

“A transplant?” Hannibal asked numbly, as Face’s bald head landed heavily on his shoulder. He wrapped his arms around his lover’s skinny body and pulled him close, fighting back the tears. “Can I be tested?”

The doctor offered him a small smile. “Of course. Though the odds of a non-family member being a perfect match are very small, I’m afraid. Do you have any relatives we could ask, Lieutenant?”

“No,” Face whispered, his voice strangely calm and steady. “There’s no one but Hannibal, and my friends.”

And Hannibal could only listen helplessly and hold Face tightly as the doctor started to explain the steps they would take next in that situation, as well as what would happen in the immediate, terrifying future.


	13. M - Mumps

“You look like a lopsided hamster.” Hannibal smiled down at Face as he gently pressed a hot washcloth to the swollen jaw; the left side was definitely worse than the right. “How is it you never had mumps as a boy?”

“No idea,” Face mumbled stiffly, closing his eyes and sinking back into the pillows with a grateful sigh as the heat started to work. “Mmm. That’s good.”

With his free hand, Hannibal stroked limp curls back from his lover’s sweaty forehead, feeling the low fever burning there. “Don’t worry,” he murmured soothingly. “You make a very cute hamster, baby.”

Face, clearly too sore to reply out loud, just flipped him the bird.


	14. N - Narcolepsy

Things had gone suspiciously quiet in the garage. Hannibal somehow knew exactly what he would find when he opened the door, and sure enough, Face was sitting slumped forwards over the worktop, a hammer in one hand and what appeared to be a circuit board in the other. He was drooling all over the blueprints Hannibal knew he’d been up most of the night working on, and snoring softly, lost to the world.

Hannibal sighed, shaking his head as he slipped off his jacket and stepped closer. “At least you weren’t working with the blow-torch, kid,” he whispered as he draped his jacket over his lover’s shoulders, feeling Face stir lethargically at his touch. “We’re going to have to put a few rules in place, I think, though I know you’ll hate that. I don’t want you to hurt yourself while we get this under control.”

He slipped one hand gently beneath his sleeping boy’s head, lifting just enough to slide the slightly soggy blueprints free, and Face grumbled something inaudible before settling back into a deeper sleep.

Pressing a soft kiss to rumpled caramel curls, Hannibal murmured softly, “Sleep well, baby.”


	15. O - Obssessive Compulsive Disorder

Hannibal paced back and forth in the kitchen, wondering at what point he should try to step in. Face wouldn’t welcome him interfering, he knew, but when this particular problem flared up there was only so much Hannibal could take, knowing how Face would struggle to make himself stop.

The tap had been running for more than twenty minutes now, and Hannibal knew it would be as hot as it could go, probably close to boiling point. Face’s poor hands would be red and sore, possibly already bleeding in places as he scrubbed at his skin over and over again with a harsh brush. 

Face had tried to describe it once, years back when Hannibal had first stumbled across his young lover practically scouring the skin from his palms. It was only ever a problem after certain sniper missions, he’d said, when he could almost feel and see the blood on his hands even though he’d been a mile or more from the kill. He had to scrub and scrub until the blood was gone, only it would never go.

Hannibal had tried to head Face off before, when he’d suspected there might be a problem. Had tried to reassure Face as much as he could – Hannibal was the one who always gave the kill order, meaning the blood was on his hands, not Face’s, though Face never saw it that way. He’d tried physically forcing Face to stop by dragging him away from the sink, though the result had been a violent fist fight which had left both of them battered and bruised. He’d even tried subterfuge once, turning off the hot water, but Face had simply boiled a kettle instead and ended up with second degree burns.

Face knew he had a problem and he had learned coping mechanisms which nearly always worked, eventually; he would stop himself, at some point, with no outside interference. But Hannibal paced faster, gnawing on a thumb nail and breathing hard. Nearly half an hour now. He already had the first aid kit out and waiting.

Finally, Hannibal couldn’t take it any longer. “Face? You coming out any time soon, kid?”

The answer was immediate, and exactly as expected. “Leave me alone, boss.” Anger, certainly, but there were tears in Face’s voice too, and Hannibal had to clench his fists to stop himself opening the bathroom door and just pulling his boy out. “Give me five minutes, okay? Put the kettle on, maybe? Black coffee would be good. Please.”

“Five minutes then, baby.” An end point, at least, though Hannibal wouldn’t breathe a sigh of relief until Face was by his side with hands dried and bandaged. “Five more minutes, and I’ll have coffee waiting. I’ll get the biscuits out, too.”


	16. P - Prosopagnosia (face blindness)

Hannibal paused in the doorway, waiting until Face glanced up at him before he took a single step inside the room. And then he waited.

Face’s bright blue eyes flickered quickly up and down his body, and Hannibal could practically see his lover compiling an internal profile, checking it against his mental database. He would be taking note of Hannibal’s height, his build, his clothes. His hair, almost certainly, and his eyes. His laughter lines, too, most likely.

He allowed a smile to appear on his lips as those blue eyes returned to his face, dancing over him and around him without a hint of recognition. Every single time, Face looked at him as if it was the very first time. Every single time, Hannibal made himself wait until his lover put all the pieces together – most of the time it only took a second or two, but sometimes it took longer.

“Hannibal?” Only a couple of seconds, today, but Face didn’t sound certain. Hannibal took a couple of steps forwards, remembering how the kid had once told him that the way someone moved or smelled was almost more important than way they looked, and only then did Face smile. “Hannibal.”

Finally, Hannibal let himself close the remaining distance and leaned down to claim a kiss. “Spot on, baby.”


	17. Q - Quinsy

There was nothing worse than waiting for news when your loved one was in surgery. Hannibal had stayed in the waiting room for as long as he could bare, before slipping out to pace up and down the corridor instead, trying not to stare at the double doors leading through to the operating theatres.

Compared with some of the situations they’d been in over the years, of course, this was a relatively minor procedure. This was no gunshot wound or knife injury, merely an infected abscess which needed draining, though the situation had become suddenly urgent when Face had started to have difficulty breathing and his fever spiked dangerously high.

It would be over soon, Hannibal reminded himself, and he’d hopefully be able to take his lover home again in a couple of days, when the IV antibiotics had worked their magic. Then, in a few weeks’ time, they’d have to talk seriously about finally having Face’s tonsils taken out for good – this had all started as his fourth bout of tonsillitis in the last six months, and the doctors had raised the subject already on the previous two occasions.

Hannibal hoped Face would agree; he couldn’t watch his lover go through this again, though it wasn’t his decision to make. As he paced, he tried to distract himself by starting a mental shopping list, for all the little things he knew would help Face feel better once he came home from the hospital. Tomato soup – the posh kind from the deli around the corner, not the cheap tinned stuff – and raspberry ripple ice cream. Mint choc chip, too, for when the worst of the swelling had gone down. 

As Hannibal paced to a stop, he turned quickly when he saw the doors to surgery open at long last, and a doctor in blue scrubs started to walk straight towards him. Hannibal’s heart started to race painfully fast until he could finally see that the doctor was smiling.


	18. R - Rheumatoid Arthritis

Hannibal heard the flush of the toilet, closely followed by slow, shuffling footsteps heading back into their bedroom rather than towards the kitchen to join him. He gave Face a minute or two before going to tap quietly on the closed door, not wanting to simply barge in.

“You want any breakfast, baby?”

“No, thanks.” Face sounded strained, and Hannibal frowned, opening the door and stepping inside.

Face was sitting on the edge of the bed, his pills and a glass of water in his visibly swollen hands. The much-hated walking stick was leaning up against the bedside table, clearly having been used for once rather than ignored, and as he glanced up at Hannibal he shook his head with a pained huff.

“Bad day?” Hannibal asked quietly, already suspecting the answer. Face simply nodded once before swallowing his pills with a grimace and draining the water. “Want a massage?”

“Not today, thanks,” Face murmured, squeezing his eyes shut. “It’s all a bit… too much.”

A really bad day, then. Hannibal thought for a moment before suggesting, “How about a hot bath?”

“Oh…” A soft sigh followed by a wide grin as Face turned to Hannibal. “That would be perfect. Thank you.”


	19. S - Sepsis

Face’s fever stubbornly refused to break, even now, and Hannibal was trying hard not to start thinking the very worst. He’d done everything he could, they all had – keeping the wound on Face’s thigh clean as they trekked through the rainforest had been almost impossible, though they’d tried their hardest. After the third day, Hannibal had been forced to throw his lover over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry as they kept moving, hoping to reach civilisation as quickly as they could.

They’d made it, barely, just as Face had begun to have difficulty breathing, his heart fluttering irregularly beneath his breast and his skin practically burning to the touch. The doctors had lifted him away from Hannibal the moment they had stumbled into the emergency room, spiriting him away into the depths of the hospital, and it had been hours before Hannibal had been able to see his lover again.

But the antibiotics still weren’t working, and Face was far too pale, his skin soaked with sweat and his limp hair plastered to his forehead. Unconscious, of course, as he had been for most of the last twenty-four hours. He was on a ventilator, his bare chest heaving with every enforced breath, though the infected wound on his leg had looked far better the last time the nurses changed the dressing. 

The infection was raging through his bloodstream now, and it was a battle Hannibal had to accept they might not win.

“Please, Face, keep fighting,” he whispered, lifting his lover’s hand into his own and squeezing gently, careful not to disturb the IV line which fed him much-needed fluids and a cocktail of medication. “Don’t let this beat you.”

The hiss of the ventilator and the soft beep of the heart monitor were his only answer.


	20. T - Tension Headache

Face had been quiet all afternoon, rubbing at his temples with a wince when he thought Hannibal wasn’t looking. And if that wasn’t a sure enough sign, then the way Face had slumped down into the middle of the sofa after dinner, head dropped back to rest in the cushions and eyes loosely closed, only confirmed Hannibal’s suspicions.

He quietly grabbed a cushion from the armchair before sitting carefully next to his lover. “Alright?” he whispered, and Face just offered him a half-smile in answer, not opening his eyes or moving an inch. “Come on.” Hannibal patted the cushion in his lap. “Down you come.”

At that, Face did crack one eye open, spotting the cushion and immediately realising Hannibal’s plan. He slid slowly down and swung his legs up onto the sofa, shifting around until he finally came to rest on his back with his head on the cushion, both eyes closed once again. 

Hannibal started to stroke his fingertips gently across Face’s forehead, before using both hands to massage gentle circles into the tense skin at his lover’s temples. “That feels heavenly,” Face practically purred, and after a few minutes of the repetitive motions, the tight lines of pain by his eyes started to fade away.

“How bad is it?” Hannibal asked softly, relieved when his lover offered him a small smile. 

“Not too bad, honest,” Face murmured, letting his head sink even further into the cushion. “You keep going like this and it’ll be gone in no time.”

And so Hannibal did just that, soothing his lover’s headache away until finally Face fell into a peaceful and pain-free sleep.


	21. U - Urinary Tract Infection

Hannibal resisted the urge to make a smart comment of some sort as Face slipped quietly away in the direction of the bathroom for the third time that hour. ‘Once more unto the breach’ or something similar, though he was sure Face wouldn’t appreciate the sentiment. Hannibal could understand that, at least; he’d been there himself, a few years back, and it really wasn’t a laughing matter. 

Instead, he opened the fridge and retrieved the nearly empty bottle of cranberry juice, filling a fresh glass and placing it on the table in clear sight. When Face emerged a few minutes later, slightly hunched over and pressing one hand into his lower belly, Hannibal waited until his lover had taken a few slow sips before asking quietly, “Alright?”

“Yeah.” Face didn’t sound entirely convinced, though, and Hannibal wasn’t surprised when he added, “I might see the doc tomorrow, maybe, if this keeps up.” 

There was nothing Hannibal could really say to that, so he simply poured the last of the juice into Face’s glass and ducked his head to press a quick, reassuring kiss to his lover’s cheek.


	22. V - Varicella Zoster (chickenpox)

“Stop scratching.” Hannibal batted Face’s hands away from his spotty chest for what seemed to be the hundredth time in the last hour. “If you scratch them, then they might scar.”

“But it itches so bad, Hannibal.” Face’s voice was little more than a whine, and he squirmed uncomfortably, probably trying to scratch his back against the mattress. “This is unbearable.”

Hannibal was ready when his lover tried to scratch again, going for his face this time, and he caught those clever hands in his own, squeezing them tightly. “Stop. Scratching. If you force me, then I will happily tape oven gloves to your hands.”

Face went still in his grasp. “You wouldn’t dare,” he hissed.

“Try me.” He fixed Face with his most stern glare before continuing, “On the other hand, if you promise to behave, then I will treat you to a nice lukewarm bath before covering you from head to toe in calamine lotion.” 

“I promise to behave if you’ll join me in the bath?” Face sounded so desperate that Hannibal nodded immediately.

“Deal.”


	23. W - Wisdom Teeth

Hannibal watched with pursed lips as Face winced his way through a few mouthfuls of dinner, chewing very gingerly and clearly in pain. After a few minutes, Face abruptly seemed to realise he was being watched, glancing over at Hannibal before very deliberately pushing his plate away.

“Not really hungry, boss,” he declared with a half-hearted smile, and Hannibal might have believed his lover if Face hadn’t immediately raised a hand to rub gently at his jaw.

Hannibal took a deep breath. “I know you hate going to the dentist, baby,” he started, continuing quickly when Face opened his mouth to protest. “But this is getting ridiculous. You need to get them taken out.”

“I really don’t need to do that, Hannibal. They’ll sort themselves out sooner or later.” 

“It’s been weeks now,” Hannibal pointed out quietly. “Painkillers aren’t helping, are they? And you can barely eat.” 

“I told you: I’m not really hungry.” A blatant lie: those bright blue eyes looked longingly down at the barely-touched pasta for just a second, before Face sighed.

As tempting as it was to throw his stubborn lover over his shoulder and simply carry him to the base dentist, Hannibal knew this had to be Face’s decision. “Let me make you an appointment. I’ll come with you, hold your hand the whole time.” 

That made Face smile, though several minutes ticked by before he finally nodded. “You win,” he whispered. “I’ve had enough of this. And I really am hungry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I know wisdom teeth are not strictly an illness, but speaking as someone who suffered terribly when mine came through (I eventually had them out under general anaesthetic, only to end up with a nasty infection afterwards) I thought it would fit with the general theme here!


	24. X - X-Ray

“It’s only bruised, boss. I just slipped, knocked my arm on the edge of the table.”

Hannibal lifted Face’s swollen wrist as gently as he could, not missing the pained hiss that escaped his lover’s lips at the action. “I’m not so sure, baby,” he murmured, running careful fingers along the puffy flesh. “I think it might be broken. Does that hurt?”

“Of course it hurts, when you’re poking at it like that!” Face made a half-hearted attempt to pull his hand free, stopping with a gasp when Hannibal refused to let go. “It can’t be broken. Really, I just knocked it a little bit. There’s no way…” He broke off with a wince, frowning. “Just strap it up and it’ll be fine. I didn’t hit it that hard.”

Watching Face, Hannibal realised with a start that his lover was telling him the truth, and faint alarm bells began to ring. To his inexpert eyes the arm certainly appeared to be broken, and if Face really hadn’t hit it hard enough to cause a fracture, then it could possibly mean one of a dozen more serious problems. Anything from osteoporosis to multiple myeloma, to any number of different types of bone cancer. 

He knew he was thinking the very worst, of course, when it was most likely that Face had just bruised his wrist badly, but that was his job. Planning for the worst case scenario, thinking three steps ahead. Particularly when it came to Face. 

Shaking off the black thoughts, Hannibal nodded once, decision made. “No, you need to get this x-rayed. Right now, just in case. Just for me, okay?”

A pause, then a whispered, “Okay, boss.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I realise X-Ray is not an illness, but this was a tricky one!


	25. Y - Yellow Fever

“Could be worse,” Hannibal soothed, pressing a gentle kiss to his lover’s sweaty brow. “At least it’s not malaria. And you don’t need to be in the hospital, thank goodness; I can look after you right here.”

Face groaned, shifting uncomfortably on the pillows. “Doesn’t stop me feeling like death warmed up.”

“I know, baby.” Hannibal lifted the bottle of water to Face’s lips, slipping a hand gently under his head to help him drink. “You need anything else right now? Or do you just want to sleep?”

“Can’t sleep. I ache everywhere.” Face sighed pitifully, his eyes glassy with fever and his arms spotted with healing mosquito bites. “My back hurts.”

Acting on instinct, Hannibal slipped beneath the cool cotton sheets to stretch out on the bed next to his lover, half-sitting against the headboard. Almost immediately, Face rolled over with a pained huff until he was curled up against Hannibal’s side, his hot head resting heavily on Hannibal’s stomach and one arm wrapping loosely around his waist. 

Starting up a gentle massage on Face’s lower back, Hannibal silently counted the minutes until the ill man fell into a restless sleep. According to the doctor, this shouldn’t be worse than a bad flu, but there were complications Hannibal would need to be on the watch for. Until Face started to feel better, Hannibal vowed he wouldn’t leave his lover’s side.


	26. Z - Zits

It was hardly a surprise, but Face was obviously upset and trying hard to hide it. A combination of stress, lack of sleep, and a diet consisting of nothing but fast food and fry-ups for weeks – little wonder Face was suffering a break out. 

Hannibal stood in the bathroom door, watching as his lover examined every inch of his skin in painstaking detail. 

“I look like a spotty teenager,” Face grumbled into the mirror, clearly fully aware he was being watched. He poked at a particularly nasty boil by the side of his nose, and winced a little. “I hate this.”

“I know you do.” Hannibal stepped into the room, wrapping his arms around Face’s slender waist and resting his chin on a strong shoulder, meeting bright baby blue eyes in the mirror. “We’ll be away from here soon, and you can stock up on all the lotions and potions you need.” He ducked his head briefly to suck a tender bite into Face’s neck. “Zits or no zits, you’re still the most handsome man I’ve ever met, and the only man I will ever love.”

Face blushed a bright, firey red, leaning back into Hannibal’s embrace. “How is it that you always know the perfect thing to say to me?”

“Years of practise,” Hannibal whispered with a smile. “I promise that I will always do everything in my power to make you feel better, even if all I can do is tell you that I love you.”

“Thank you, John. You have no idea what that means to me.” Face twisted suddenly in his arms and planted a wet, sloppy kiss on Hannibal’s lips, before murmuring, “I love you too.”

Hannibal leaned in to press their lips together again, and again, determined to drive any thought of spots far from Face’s mind. Distraction was often the best way by far to make Face feel better, and of course it was no hardship for him either, Hannibal mused, as he dragged his lover out of the bathroom and in the direction of the bedroom.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [An Alphabet of Hurt and Comfort (Redux)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8227748) by [loves_books](https://archiveofourown.org/users/loves_books/pseuds/loves_books)




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